Sing Me Home
by southway
Summary: Her career wasn't supposed to be over before it started; a car accident wasn't a part of the ten year plan. Then again, Rachel wouldn't have expected Noah and Santana to be the ones helping her cope with the aftermath. Puckleberry Pez.
1. How Beautifully Blue the Sky

**Author's Note: **I'm well aware I probably shouldn't start a brand new story when I'm struggling to write _In Treatment_, however, it's become pretty obvious that I'm going to be stuck at a dead end unless I start addressing this little plot bunny. This story was initially spurred by my interest in exploring the relationship dynamics of a Puck, Rachel, Santana triad. I could have stopped there, but, then I started wondering how Rachel would react if she obtained her dream and had it yanked away from her.

This is the result of those musings.

This is not an _In Treatment_ future fic. All Glee episodes up to 2.16 are recognized; there was no epic Puckleberry romance or Pezberry friendship. But, because this is a story about second (or third or fourth) chances and starting over, that doesn't much matter in the long run.

**Sing Me Home**_**  
>Chapter One: How Beautifully Blue the Sky<strong>_

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><p><em>It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.<em>__

_**Chuck Palahniuk**_

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><p>It happens in May.<p>

Rachel's been in L.A. for a couple of months, even though she hates the city, surviving the Broadway shut down (thanks to the musicians and stage hands striking) with a little help from Jesse St. James. She's got a recurring role on his hit medical drama, as a former nurse turned troubled patient, and it's just enough to keep her from crawling back to New York, crappy waitressing gigs, and her ex-girlfriend.

The Tony award nominations were announced the week before and she's still riding the high of being nominated for best performance by a leading actress in a musical. _Pirates of Penzance_ may not be one of her favorite musicals and Mabel may be far from her dream role, but, it got her on stage in front of a huge crowd every night. Even though the strike essentially shut down Broadway, the Tony Awards are still being held and Rachel's just got to endure a couple more weeks of traffic jams, smog, and a ridiculous filming schedule before she can head back to New York and walk down the red carpet with her dad and daddy on each arm.

Rumors are flying that the strike will be over before the awards and then she can stop sleeping on Jesse's couch and leave L.A. with enough money to survive while she's trying to secure another Broadway role. Of course, even the _absolute exhilaration _she's feeling isn't enough to keep her from getting pissed off by the traffic, the bitchy internet gossip mongers, and the fact that Catherine still won't talk to her. They've been together two years (her longest relationship after Finn) and apparently that means she's supposed to suffer through months of sore feet and small tips and getting patted on the ass by drunk patrons to stay in New York because Catherine can't leave her engineering job to go '_gallivanting off like a fucking gypsy._'

Rachel knows that taking Jesse up on his offer only made things worse. They've been friends since her freshmen year at Julliard (after they participated in the same week-long workshop) but Catherine never liked the fact that they almost "_did it_." However, Rachel's not the type of person to turn down a gig just because her significant other has jealousy issues. Honestly, she's not the type to turn down a gig, _period_. Besides, even if her sexuality is pretty fluid, she has no desire to jump back on the crazy train that was St. Berry.

There's been a lot of growing up (for both of them) since she got egged in the parking lot sophomore year of high school.

It happens in May, on one of those truly rare days when the sun is shining and the sky is that perfect clear blue it always is in the movies. She's stuck in traffic (like usual) and doesn't even have Jesse for company because he left early to meet with his agent. Rachel hears sirens but there isn't a whole lot of maneuverability in four lanes of bumper to bumper traffic. It's also L.A. and people are so desensitized to sirens that they don't take it seriously until the lights are flashing in their rear view mirror.

Rachel's inching her way towards the side of the road, along with everyone else in her lane, when she hears the first crunch of metal. She screams, involuntarily, even though nothing happened to her or the piece of shit rental she's driving. Even as she's laughing it off, looking around to see what the hell is going on, the screaming of metal intensifies and she realizes that this isn't your average fender bender.

Her dad's voice is shouting inside of her head, a thousand defensive driving lectures mashing into one long litany, but she literally can't go _anywhere_. She's trying to force herself into the far right lane, in order to get the fuck off the highway, when a Hummer comes out of nowhere and smashes into the driver's side of her environmentally friendly compact. After that, all she can really remember is lots and lots of pain, the sound of metal on metal, and the coppery taste of blood when she splits her lip on the steering wheel. There's a moment when the mental image of being smashed into a perfectly square cube of meat and bones flashes through her mind and then everything goes black.

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><p>The first time she wakes up, she's confused because the script didn't call for any scenes on a gurney. Then Rachel realizes that the eyes assessing her are dark brown and not pale blue; even with the restraints, she still manages to hurt herself struggling to get away from the doctor who calls for sedation in the same breath he's telling her she's going to be fine.<p>

Even _half drugged_ she can still read the flinching in his eyes that signals that he's _lying_.

The second time she wakes up, she's coming out of anesthesia with tears running down her cheeks and her heart hammering in her chest. Rachel tries calling out to her daddy, all she wants in the whole world is her daddy to hold her hand and make it better, but her throat hurts from intubation and when she can't do much more than croak, it causes her to freak out even more. The nurses keep telling her to calm down and she keeps crying and eventually they slip her something that makes her feel like she's floating in a golden cloud.

This is in direct conflict with the fact that she feels like she's in hell.

The third time she wakes up, she's in a private hospital room and Catherine's sleeping in the chair beside her bed. Because Rachel wants her dads or Jesse or even _Quinn fucking Fabray_ (because anyone would be better than her ex), she closes her eyes and wills back the itchy panicked feeling that always comes with certain pain meds and forces herself to go back to sleep.

Her dads wake her up the fourth time. Rachel can hear them screaming at Catherine from the hallway, because no one had the presence of mind the shut the door, and she wonders how much time has passed and how long it took them to get to L.A. from Lima. Her daddy is waving his hands around wildly and looks like he's close to stomping his foot. Her dad just stands there, his neck bulging from barely contained rage, and she wonders if he's going to punch a wall before or after he storms off.

Catherine, as usual, isn't about to be outdone. She pulls herself up to her full height, five foot eight (which makes her two inches taller than Rachel's daddy), and runs a hand through her brilliant red hair. It isn't long before her hands are on her hips and she's unleashing all of her (completely unnecessary) Irish Catholic anger on the two men. It's the same tired argument that's been buzzing in the background since they started dating.

"Just admit it; you're both pissed off because you thought you'd finally gotten rid of me. _You_ might be out and proud but that doesn't mean you want _your daughter_ shacking up with some _dyke_."

"Catherine…" Her dad's voice is dangerously low, to the point she has to strain to hear him, and Rachel wonders if he's angry enough to start punching _people _instead of _walls._ Her daddy fixes her ex-girlfriend with a steely look and puts his hand on her dad's shoulder.

"We shouldn't even be having this conversation. _You left her_, didn't talk to her for months, and then have the _audacity_ to come out here and start showing some concern. She could have _died_ and you're _still _acting like a _spoiled brat_."

"Hiram," Jesse speaks up, out of sight, and Catherine sneers, "just kick her out already. You and Leroy are next of kin; the only reason _she's_ even here is because Rachel forgot to update her emergency contacts."

A nurse walks up then, flanked by two security guards (who seem more concerned with the angry black man then the stupid bitch who's currently keeping Rachel from her dads). The noise level is reduced by a power of ten and then Catherine's storming off, her loud steps echoing in the corridor. Rachel just pushes the little red button, thankful for the shot of pain numbing relief that starts dripping down into her IV.

_This_ must be the reason people get addicted to pain medication. It's not even that it feels so much better (which it does), it's that she can stop thinking about her dads and the Tony Awards and her little apartment in New York that she's still renting for when she can come back. She can stop thinking about how Jesse looks like he wants to cry and how Catherine showed up even though they're not speaking and how she really, really wants to call Finn even though they only ever exchange Christmas (holiday) cards now.

She thinks about pushing the little red button again, but settles on grabbing her daddy's hand when he sits down beside her. She wants to go to sleep and have everything be better when she wakes up, but, if Rachel's learned anything it's that she's only going to hurt worse when she wakes up.

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><p>It's never really quiet in a hospital, not like they show on TV, anyway. Machines are always buzzing and if the nurses aren't bothering you every hour to draw blood or take vitals or generally be annoying, they're gossiping at the nurses' station. People are constantly walking up and down the hall (sometimes running) and occasionally a patient or a family member will freak out and really disturb things.<p>

Rachel knows she shouldn't be so ungrateful, considering hospitals and doctors and nurses save lives (like her own), but she's so tired of being woken up to be poked and prodded and told that she can go back to sleep once they're finished with her. They are _never _finished with her.

Her dads and Jesse take turns watching her throughout the night. At one point, Jesse even tries bribing the nurse with an autographed copy of his head shot (yes, he carries them with him everywhere) if she'll just let Rachel have a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep. The nurse declines and has the decency to look offended even while she's blushing like a school girl.

She wakes up in the morning to her dad rolling up a prayer mat (he's only really religious when something bad happens), the smell of strong coffee, and CNN with the volume turned down low. Her leg has started to throb (she really has no desire to look at it beyond recognizing that it's in traction) and Rachel considers pressing the red button again. Her dad starts talking, however, and distracts her from connecting her thumb to the device that's become her new best friend.

"Bunny, how are you feeling?"

There's a part of her (a small part) that wants to tell him that she's _thisclose_ to having Jesse buy her a gun so she can blow her brains out. Because, honestly, she's always had a real low tolerance for physical pain and she's pretty much at her breaking point. So, while she should be thinking about real world concerns, like her apartment or her career or the countless of hours of physical therapy she's probably going to have to clock in to get her leg semi-functional (even though she has yet to talk to the lying doctor), all Rachel can really focus on how her whole body hurts so bad that she just wants to die.

Instead, she swallows a couple of times, forces a smile, and manages a whispered, "Okay." If her throat didn't hurt so much, she'd tell him to stop calling her Bunny.

He bursts into tears, which is pretty par for the course, and all Rachel can really do is pat his hand and wait for the tears to subside. Leroy Berry might be built for the NBA but he cries like a girl. Usually it makes her proud (that her dad is so in touch with his emotions) but all it's currently doing is making her uncomfortable because he won't _stop_ and her daddy isn't there to calm him down.

Jesse comes back after what seems like an eternity, muttering something about phone calls and agents and rescheduling, and makes her dad take a walk.

"Hiram's talking to reporters right now," Jesse's never been one to beat around the bush, so, Rachel's kind of surprised when he doesn't immediately tell her how bad her life sucks, "you're the biggest celebrity here, besides me _of course_, and this is kind of a big deal." He fills her in on the details: bank robbery, high speed chase, four dead and a least twenty wounded, and the meth head who robbed the bank walked away without a scratch. "Someone's already leaked photos of the accident to the press; Extra ran a story last night about what kind of prosthetic you might get if you lose your leg."

He sees the panic in her eyes and curses, "You're _not_ going to lose your leg, Rachel. You're eventually going to hear this all from your doctor, but, you were in surgery for _hours_. You're currently held together by pins and screws and you'll be in traction until Dr. Michaels feels confident that you're not going to get an infection and they can put a cast on your leg."

"Look, this isn't the end of the world," Jesse's looking straight at her and Rachel's focused so hard on his face (because she wants to punch him in the mouth until his teeth break) that she can see the tightening of his eyes and the slight pinching around his mouth that signals he's lying. He hasn't been able to lie to her since he walked back into her life. Probably because there are enough lies between them for a lifetime.

It _is_ the end of the world. There's no way in hell she's ever going to dance again. She knows it, Jesse knows it, her dads and Catherine know it, all that's left is for someone to come out and say it. _She_ won't because it means admitting that her career on Broadway is over when it was just getting started. Jesse won't admit it for the same reason and her dads won't because they've never been very good at denying her anything and vocalizing _this_ is kind of the same thing. Catherine probably would, because she's always been really good with brutal honesty, but Rachel's pretty sure her daddy's already got a restraining order drawn up and ready to be signed.

Eventually the doctor comes in, he looks like shit and smells slightly of cigarette smoke, opens his mouth and starts ruining her life. She knows it's not fair to blame him, after all he's not the one who's responsible for the accident, but she hates him for it all the same.

While Dr. Michaels talks temporary wheelchairs, future surgeries, and hours upon hours of physical therapy, all Rachel can think about is how someone is going to have to pack up her apartment and ship her things back to Lima. How this man, who's only trying to do his best by her, is spelling out a prison sentence. Because _no one_ who ever went _back _to Lima ever got out again. By the time she's able to walk again (without the aid of a walker), Hollywood's not going to want her (she's barely tolerated by virtue of her association with Jesse) and Broadway will be sympathetic but realistic. You know, because she's _never_ going to dance again.

If she were a race horse, they'd probably put her to sleep. Instead, they're going to ship her back to the too small town she spent her whole life planning to leave behind. She wonders how long it will take for one of her old classmates to corner her at the supermarket and mock her for having all her dreams crash down around her ears.

Rachel wonders how long it will take to sink so deep in self-pity that she contemplates falling in bed with Finn and ruining whatever relationship he's in at the moment. She pushes the little red button and kind of hopes that he's with Quinn, if only for the sake of history repeating itself (or something like that). It's not that she wants Finn anymore (ship sailed and lost at sea) but self-pity and sex with Finn go together better than peanut butter and chocolate. Fucking over Quinn, well, that's like sprinkles on a sundae; it's totally unnecessary but magically makes things better (until the guilt sets in at least).

It's a month and a half before she's out of the hospital and out of L.A., flying first class with a prescription for anti-depressants tucked inside her purse. She cries the entire flight back to Lima.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>While the first couple of chapters will be pretty Rachel-centric, Puck and Santana should be making appearances soon. This plot bunny has been bugging me for a while, can't wait to see what you all think about it.


	2. Who Would've Thought?

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for your interest in this little story of mine. I know it's starting out pretty heavy, but, I promise the focus will eventually shift off of Rachel's accident and onto her relationship with Noah and Santana. I hope you stick it out with me; I'll do my best to make it worth your while. False starts seem to be my MO these days - still, I'd rather take a little extra time putting a chapter together than give you less than my best (I'm sure you'd agree).

**Sing Me Home**

_**Chapter Two: Who Would've Thought?**_

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><p><em>If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.<em>

_**Mercedes Lackey**_

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><p>It's a week before Dr. Michaels and his team perform the second surgery. Her dad is in full doctor mode, even though he's an OBGYN and not a surgeon, and spends hours talking to Dr. Michaels. While the _old Rachel_ would be incredibly annoyed to be left out of so many important discussions, the _new Rachel_ can't really be bothered to care. She's content to be filled in with the Cliff Note's version later. Mostly she tries to stay as blissed out on pain meds as the nursing staff will allow and occasionally fights Jesse for the last cup of jello.

It may not be _vegan_ but it's pretty much the only thing she wants to eat.

Every once in a while she'll flip on her BlackBerry. There are messages from Catherine to ignore (it's cowardly but avoidance has become her new game plan) and blogs to read. Most people, especially the Broadway ones, are still focused on the tragic accident angle. There are still dozens of flower arrangements arriving in her hospital room every day and nurses that can be bought for a couple hundred dollars who will testify to how _brave _and _stoic _she's being in the face of adversity.

Of course, there are a couple real stand outs that have already started in with the negativity. Rachel really doesn't find it surprising; in fact she's surprised the cease fire lasted as long as it did. There's a guy, who could probably be David Karofsky's and Jacob Ben-Israel's love child, who has been particularly nasty since she came out to Hollywood. He's got a crush on Jesse (just about everyone does) and delights in finding new ways of attacking her character; he rides the fine line between gossip and defamation and has quite a few followers. Within three days of her accident, he had accused her of using the pity to trap Jesse into marriage, extend her contract with ABC, _and _use her extended hospital stay as an excuse to get a nose job and breast augmentation.

If her body didn't hurt so much, she might laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Then there are the Broadway bloggers who have already started in on the Tony Awards. Namely, if she should win or lose _and_ if she _wins_, if it is just the cherry on top of a giant pity sundae. It doesn't take very long before the very _thought_ of the awards makes Rachel sick to her stomach. For several days it's the only thing she thinks about (which is stupid, all things considered) and even when reality finally creeps in (in the form of a final internal fixation surgery and a cast) she's still extremely conflicted. _If she wins_, Rachel knows she'll always wonder if it was for her _talent_ or because her leg got busted into a trillion pieces. _If she loses_, though, Rachel knows she'll never get another chance at a Tony. With so many dreams already lost, she's not quite sure if she's ready to give up on the one where she's clutching the statuette before her twenty fifth birthday.

Once the cast is in place, she's no longer forced to be immobile in bed. It takes _a lot_ of effort to move, however, because while her right leg is the worst injury, the rest of her didn't escape unscathed. Her left wrist is in a brace while the hairline fracture heals. Nothing else is broken but she quickly finds out that there are a lot of stages between not broken and not hurt. She's bruised pretty much _everywhere_. The two black eyes and split lip make her look like she was in a bar fight. Her upper body is black and blue (later yellow and green) and scrapped deep enough in some places that Rachel's pretty sure she'll have some temporary scarring. Everyone keeps saying how _lucky_ she is to have escaped with the injuries she did and it gets to the point where she feels like screaming whenever they say it.

She's _not _lucky. Lucky people don't get into car accidents a month before the Tony Awards. Lucky people don't have their legs destroyed in those same freak car accidents. Lucky people don't sit in hospital beds and wonder if they'd just listened to their (ex)girlfriends and not been too proud to waitress for a couple months if they'd still have a career on Broadway. If she were lucky, she would have gotten up early and taken Jesse up on his offer to drive to the studio together. If she were lucky, the accident would have been something she caught on CNN, not something she was a part of.

No, there's _nothing _lucky about her situation. Rachel's haunted by the thought that, if she'd died, at least there wouldn't be hundreds of 'What if' scenarios plaguing her daily. At least, dead, she wouldn't be faced with the prospect of being trapped in Lima with the taste of Broadway on her tongue.

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><p>Two weeks after they arrive, her dads have to leave. As much as they want to stay, her daddy is needed back in Lima for a divorce case and her dad has to be in Chicago to present at a medical conference. They leave promising to fix up the downstairs guestroom into a suitable bedroom and to rent a wheelchair accessible van so she doesn't have to struggle so much to get around once she gets back home. While she wasn't expecting them to stay the whole time she was in the hospital, Rachel's still a little disappointed. They've always been career-minded and busy and various degrees of absent from her life but (as much as they were beginning to drive her completely and totally insane) she still hoped that they would stay for just a little while longer.<p>

Instead, she's stuck with Jesse and her agent, Bradley, who both insist she start preparing for the Tonys. As much as she wants to tell them to go to hell, she doesn't have much choice because the people responsible for putting the show together have already started pissing her off more than she thought was possible. They want to set up a live feed so she can give a little speech before the awards ceremony starts. Rachel agrees, if only to appeal to her pride and vanity, and immediately regrets it. There's talk about different lighting and make up strategies to _lessen _the severity of her superficial injuries, which leads into what she should say and how she should say it.

It takes Bradley stepping in and nearly restraining her to keep her from throwing her bedpan at their smug, idiotic faces.

Eventually, it's decided that she wants _no_ special lighting, _no _makeup, and the most prep she's doing is a sponge bath and changing her hospital gown. _No one _from the committee is really happy about it (they feel it really brings down the mood) but Jesse can't stop grinning and Bradley thinks it will make her look brave and shit. Rachel knows she's going to have to fire him eventually, since she's got no use for an agent anymore, but, he's been there for her since she graduated from Julliard and it only makes sense that he stick around for this last hurrah.

On the night of the awards, Rachel _almost_ wishes she'd consented to the makeup and corrective lighting. There's a three man camera crew stuffed inside of her room and she feels very small with her clean hair back in a simple braid and the new hospital gown Jesse lifted from set. She's been pain med free for hours, because she doesn't want to be high on live TV, and although the more superficial injuries are healing, her body still aches. In her (possibly greatest bit of acting) speech, Rachel thanks everyone for their concern and well wishes. She talks about how _thankful_ she is to have _so many_ wonderful people in her life and how much she wishes she were there with them (probably the only part that isn't somewhat a lie). There are some tears and lots of smiling and she somehow manages to wrap it up within time.

She's watching the telecast live and the camera crew manages to capture the moment when _her name_ is announced as the winner of Best Leading Actress in a Musical. Her director gets up on stage and before she can really process what's going on, they've got her up on the giant screen behind him crying her eyes out. The fingers on her good hand instinctively clench when he holds up the statuette to her screen image and there's a couple of seconds of incoherent babbling before she can manage any real words. It goes down as one of the most memorable moments in Tony history.

As cliché as it is, Rachel doesn't have a speech prepared. She's in a fucking hospital bed with nothing under her gown but a pair of cotton panties and she honestly can't believe she just won the award. She thanks _everyone_ from her director to her first vocal coach to the idiots at McKinley High who slushied her on a regular basis. It's when she gets to the glee club, though, that Rachel almost breaks down. She tells them she'd be _nothing _without them and even though they weren't always the best to each other, they were there for one another when it mattered. Just before her time runs out, she says that she loves them all (and it's not even a lie).

The goodwill lasts just enough for the camera crew to depart and her pain meds to kick in.

She asks Bradley to arrange to have her award shipped to her dads' house as his last act as her agent and then wishes him the best of luck (he'll be fine, after all, one of his clients just won a Tony). Once Bradley leaves, Rachel asks Jesse to curl up in the narrow bed with her and proceeds to cry the rest of the night. He just hugs her close and sings silly, meaningless songs in his softest voice until she finally wears herself out and falls asleep.

It takes a long, long, _long _ time before Rachel can talk about the Tony Awards without bursting into tears.

* * *

><p>Catherine proposes right before Rachel leaves for Lima.<p>

Apparently she was never _officially banned _from the hospital and the nurses have no problem letting her in during visiting hours now that Rachel's dads are back in Ohio. It (probably) helps that she flashes a beautiful one carat diamond in a simple platinum setting and an even bigger smile when she announces that she's going to propose. It's typical Catherine and one of the reasons Rachel feel in love with her in the first place.

When she met Catherine, Rachel was twenty two and just about to graduate from Julliard. To say she hadn't been looking for anyone would be an understatement. She'd broken up with Finn almost a year before. He had finally realized she wouldn't give up the possibility of Broadway for a life in Lima with him and she had finally realized he was never going to leave the safety of Lima for the uncertainty of New York. Considering they'd been off-and-on since high school, it wasn't really much of a surprise. After Finn, Rachel redoubled her efforts at school and rebuffed any attempts at a serious relationship. She went on a couple of dates and hooked up with a couple of people from NYU (boys and girls) but put her _relationship with performing _first. Catherine had (literally) bumped into her while she was jogging in Central Park and insisted on taking her out for coffee to properly apologize.

Coffee had turned into lunch which had turned into dinner which ended up with them in bed the night of graduation.

The budding romance _almost _fell apart when the red head realized that Rachel's two (most important) exes were _men_ and that the recent Julliard graduate didn't particularly identify with any specific label. Perhaps because of her dads (or maybe in spite of them), Rachel saw no reason to define her sexuality. She liked _people _because of _who they were_ not because of the parts attached to their bodies. Catherine, who had basically been disowned by her extremely religious family when she came out, never really understood where Rachel was coming from. Although they were mostly able to work through that (and most of their other problems) it was always a specter, haunting their relationship.

Much like Lima (with Finn), Rachel's desire to _go with the flow_ was never something Catherine could get over. When Rachel decided to go to L.A. (and stay with Jesse) it had been the last straw in their crumbling relationship. At the hospital, after the accident, was the first time Rachel had seen her ex since she asked for her spare key back the night she left.

Still, it wouldn't be _CatherineandRachel_ if there wasn't the surprise proposal at the eleventh hour. There are about two seconds where Rachel considers accepting, if only because it means getting to go back to New York (the city she loves with her whole heart) and never having to see Lima again unless she wants to. It's tempting but she still says 'No' faster than she can swallow her pain pills. Life with Catherine will mean compromising her heart and being with someone she doesn't completely love. It will also mean living in city she loves but forever being on the outside looking in. Faced with those options, she'd rather go back to her dads and Lima.

"Come on, baby, _please._"

"We broke up for a reason, Catherine. That's not going to change just because you put a ring on my finger." They both flinch at the cold tone of Rachel's voice and Rachel's surprised when tears start welling up in her eyes. "If it wouldn't have been L.A., it would have been something else."

Catherine's face is red and blotchy, a sure sign that she's about to start yelling, and Rachel wonders how long it will be before security comes to escort her out of the building. They've always been very good at arguing but never very good at making up. It's a testament to their sheer force of will that they stayed together for as long as they did.

Or, at least, Catherine's force of will and Rachel's extremely ridiculous schedule.

"Why are you doing this? I'm it, I'm what you have left, I'm_ New York_, Rachel. I put this ring on your finger and you don't have to go back to that stupid cow town that treated you like shit. You wear _my ring_ and you won't have to be Hiram's pity case, shuffling files at his law firm. This is your last chance; I'm not going to ask again."

"You don't love me, not really, not like you _should_." That has always been their main problem. They love each other but not in the _right way_, not the way that counts when you're trying to have a life together. "If I _really_ loved you, I wouldn't be tempted to say yes just because you're my ticket out of Lima." She did that once before, fell for someone because he represented salvation; a way out of the lower tier and out of high school hell. It might have developed into more from there, but, that was always at the foundation of her relationship with Finn.

Catherine doesn't stay for much longer after that. She just picks up her ring and strides out of the room, long legs eating up the distance between Rachel's bed and the door. It's hard (harder than she'd thought it would be) to watch her ex-girlfriend walk out the door and out of her life. It shouldn't be, considering how good she'd gotten at saying goodbye to people, but it is.

It takes a long time before she talks to anyone about _that_ either.

* * *

><p>Her dads pick her up in Columbus. She hasn't seen them in what feels like forever but the enthusiasm that she would have once fed off on just grates on her nerves. They want to hug her (but it's awkward with the cast and the wheelchair) and hold her hand and pet her hair; Rachel just wants them to load her up and start driving back to Lima.<p>

She _refuses_ to talk about the Tony Awards. She's achieved her dream, a Tony Award before her twenty fifth birthday, and she honestly doesn't give a shit. She _knows_ she got the award because of the accident. It's not because she was better than the other actresses (although she w_as_) but because of the pictures where she's sporting a busted lip and two black eyes and blood is everywhere and _you can tell_ that her leg is so mangled that it's going to take a miracle for her to walk again.

That part of her that wants a gun in the same breath she wants to be Mrs. Catherine Fraser also wants to take her award and smash it into a million little pieces. The part of her that's _Rachel Barbra Berry_ had the damn thing shipped overnight to her dads' house and placed in her old bedroom. She might be a lot of things, but, she's not crazy enough to damage a Tony statuette.

The ride to Lima is quiet. Her daddy tries to fill the silence by singing along to the radio but she has absolutely no desire to sing along with him. Her dad tries to engage her in conversation but she can't bring herself to give him more than short, terse answers. Eventually they all stare straight ahead; her daddy's knuckles clenched white on the steering wheel, and don't say a single thing until they're parked in the driveway.

Then all her daddy says is, "Welcome home." Her dad just says, "Sleep well."

Rachel forces a smile (it's become habit to fake a smile than actually try to smile) and tells them the yard looks nice. It makes her think about Noah, which makes her _really smile_ because their yard was always the nicest on the block seeing as he couldn't screw his way to a payday. The smile lasts just as long as it takes her daddy to start extolling the benefits of hiring a professional landscaping service. When she falls asleep she dreams of a pool full of grape slushy and a shirtless Noah Puckerman dripping purple slush in the hot summer sun.

They haven't spoken in years but he still manages to wake her up in a sticky, sweaty mess. She promises herself to _stop that_ because she's a Tony award winning actress (not a hormonal teenager) and all it really does is make her cast itch.

* * *

><p>Her dads become pissed off (crazy with worry) when all she does for the first month is lock herself in the guestroom and alternate between sitting in her chair and staring at the wall or laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Her dad threatens to volunteer her for JCC events, to make her apply for a job, and to send her to a therapist.<p>

Her daddy just tells her she's getting fat. _That's _enough to spur Rachel into action.

The first thing Rachel does is stop popping her hidden stash of pain meds like they're candy coated sleep aids. It's _hard_ because Dr. Michaels (finally) found the right combination that makes her feel floaty and giddy right before knocking her the fuck out. They also make her feel so, so, _so_ hungry, which means she gorges until she's almost sick. She flushes the pills down the toilet and can't sleep for a week, but, eventually she starts eating meals with her dads (which significantly cuts down on the binging).

The resistance band left over from her daddy's shoulder surgery becomes her new best friend (it's not as comforting as the red button or the pain meds but is much more helpful). It takes a little bit of ingenuity (and hours of searching the internet) but Rachel manages to come up with a series of exercise routines. She gets a little sidetracked creating exercise schedules and charts for tracking everything from caloric intake to flexibility to weight loss. She only has _one bad day_ when her dad brings her gold stars out from storage and can't understand why she doesn't want them anywhere near her (or her charts).

After all, gold stars are a metaphor…and she's _not_ going to be a star someday. She _was a star_ but there isn't a sticker to symbolize _that_ metaphor.

Every time she starts staring at the wall (or the ceiling or her leg), Rachel picks up the resistance band and starts working her arms and her one good leg. It's hard at first because her left wrist is still tender and it's hard to get any leverage with her left leg when her right leg is immobile. Eventually, though, she starts to regain _some_ of her old flexibility back and lose a little weight. There's still a fullness to her face that wasn't there when the Hummer smashed into her, but, she no longer feels stiff and weak.

Jesse calls (a lot) but she only answers every third call. Rachel tells herself it's because she doesn't want to look pathetic, but, really, it's because the sound of his voice reminds her of her life before the accident. It reminds her of how proud he sounded when she told him she'd gotten the lead in _Pirates_. It reminds her of Sunday mornings sipping tea in Central Park (which they _never_ got to do together). It reminds her of sleeping on his couch and carpooling to the studio and having romantic scenes together and struggling to keep a straight face.

Rachel _knows_ this probably makes her a horrible person, but, she still can't make herself pick up the phone more than every third call.

On bad days she tries to keep from completely avoiding her dads. On good days she tries to force herself to make conversation. She's got about a fifty percent success rate with both endeavors. As long as she focuses on her charts (graphical representation of her progress), then she can continue to move forward. Rachel finds it easier to watch the news (although she still avoids anything celebrity-related) and listen to music; musicals, however, are still completely out of the question.

When she can get through a day without crying, Rachel stashes her prescription for anti-depressants inside of her underwear drawer. Even with all the little baby steps, there are still things she _can't_ do. She doesn't open any of her mail (just has her dads scan it and send out appropriate thank you cards) and she doesn't access her e-mail. Rachel gives Jesse her account information and he tells her if anything important shows up (his assistant ends up doing most of the work, but, Rachel really doesn't mind). That same assistant deletes her Facebook, Myspace (after backing up those ridiculous high school videos), and Twitter accounts at Rachel's insistence.

Jesse tells her she's being overly dramatic. She tells him he's being an asshat. He calls three more times just so he can tell her he's sorry. It _almost_ makes her wish that he'd proposed instead of Catherine.

Rachel doesn't leave the house, not unless it's to roll down the driveway and into the van so she can go to (another) doctor's appointment. Her daddy tells her she's wasting a perfectly good summer and she can't bear to tell him it's nothing to wasting a perfectly good career. Comments like that aren't considered progress. She knows that, eventually, the cast will come off and life will go on. She'll have to stop wallowing in self pity and regret. She'll have to get a job and find her own place to live and she's not really going to get very far with a Bachelor of Music degree. Not anywhere but Lima, anyway. Unless she wants to get another degree (in something she hates) her options are pretty limited.

Rachel knows that when the cast comes off she's going to have start making some hard decisions.

For now, however, it's enough to stare at her rainbow colored (done perfectly in colored pencil) charts and stretch her muscles and countdown to the time when her cast is finally off and her doctor lets her start using her elliptical again. If she's going to be a _Lima Loser_ then, Rachel figures, she can at least look good. Realistically, it's about all she has to look forward to.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hope you enjoyed Noah's appearance (even if it was all in Rachel's head). The next chapter will include a bit of a time skip, with the cast off and Rachel moving forward into her recovery and physical therapy. If things go according to plan Santana (and a few other glee club members) will be making an appearance.


	3. Let's Step Out

**Author's Note: **So, you guys benefit from another day off and a sudden burst of inspiration. I suppose another update (so soon after the last one) is the best way to say 'Thank you' for all the alerts and some really thoughtful reviews. So, so glad you're enjoying this.

**Sing Me Home**

_**Chapter Three: Let's Step Out**_

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><p><em>What are you hiding? No one ever asks that.<em>

_**Sarah Vowell**_

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><p>Finn catches up with Rachel one afternoon while she's headed towards the van, dad in tow, ready for another appointment with Dr. Reed (her Lima doctor). Her dad gives him a look that's somewhere between appreciative and confused and makes a beeline to the driver's side door.<p>

"Bunny, you can take a couple minutes to catch up with your friend. We're going to be fifteen minutes early as it is."

Rachel glares at him and then fixes Finn with the fake smile that's become her trademark. There are only two people in the world who know when she's not really smiling and Finn isn't one of them. He smiles back, an automatic response, and brings his hand up behind his head in a rather bashful pose. Knowing Finn, he probably is _embarrassed _to be caught jogging (stalking her) past her house. He's been turned away twice before but, then again, the boy never was very good at taking a hint.

"You're looking…_good_." She's wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with the right leg cut off just above her knee to make it easier to get it past her cast. Her hair is shorter (no longer tumbling down her back) and it's just long enough to pull into a proper French braid. Rachel's well aware that she's still ten pounds over her target weight and she hasn't felt this shitty since sophomore year and Kurt's nightmare of a makeover.

"You don't have to lie to me, Finn. I _know _I look like shit." Rachel smiles (for real) when he cringes at her choice of words and there's a moment when she feels like laughing. "I get my cast off today, so I can stop mutilating sweatpants. Then Dr. Michaels is flying out in a couple of weeks to remove all the hardware in my leg."

She's saying more than she normal would (except with Jesse) and it's probably because Finn's always served as a verbal laxative – whenever he's around, she can't help but say more than she means to.

"I know; I've been assigned as your physical therapist once your doctors clear you."

The brief surge of anger she felt while pondering _how _he knew is replaced by complete and utter surprise. Last she'd heard he was an assistant coach under Beiste and taking evening classes at OSU-Lima (the football scholarship and attempt at a degree in Leisure Studies never really did pan out to a career in the pros). Apparently getting fired from the tire shop for being a hazard to life and limb made him actually go and study something.

"Mostly I work with the football team, but I got the sh…I asked if I could work with you. You know, because we're friends and everything." Rachel figures he was going to say _short straw_ and wonders how many of her former classmates are working at Lima Memorial Rehabilitation Center. They probably remember her from the days when she was just a loud voice and a grating personality. She doesn't blame them for not wanting to work one-on-one with her.

She learned, the hard way, after a couple months on Broadway that acting like a diva doesn't get _anyone _very far in life.

"This was nice and everything, but, I really don't want to be late. I want to take a shower tonight and not worry about getting my cast wet."

Rachel doesn't even wait for a response (although she's pretty sure Finn's blushing at the thought of her in the shower), just wheels forward until she's on the ramp and being lifted up into the van. It's always been this way with Finn, balanced somewhere between annoyance and attraction, and she reminds herself that (last time she checked) he was dating some twenty one year old with a two year old from a previous relationship. It's one thing to fuck over Quinn Fabray but screwing over a stranger with a kid is in a whole other league. Her life might be over, but, she's not that much of a bitch.

* * *

><p>The only other person who tries to visit after she arrives in Lima is Mr. Shuester. Although she has her dads turn him away with a very polite, 'Rachel's not seeing visitors,' she still has this image of inviting him into the living room and sitting across the coffee table from him with her Tony between them. No matter how many times he told her she was meant for great things, Rachel doesn't think he really believed in her. She was his star, yes, but she was also a pain in his (less than knowledgeable) ass and a challenge he didn't need when trying to relive his golden high school days or whatever the hell he was trying to do.<p>

Even after all those years she's still a teeny, tiny bit bitter.

He doesn't come back after that first time, which makes her think that he'd only come out of some misplaced sense of obligation. It doesn't really surprise her that no one else comes to visit her. Even if most of them ended up back in state (after escaping Ohio for college) that doesn't mean that they're going to suddenly race to Rachel's side because she was in a debilitating accident. Real life is rarely as satisfying as a movie script.

If Facebook is to be believed, Brittany and Kurt were the only ones (besides Rachel) that got out and stayed out. Brittany's in Florida, apparently working as a cruise line dancer while waiting on bigger and better things. Kurt's in New York, working for Michael Kors (which seems like an awkward fit considering his flamboyant style) and dating some guy who could be Blaine's twin brother.

Of those that made it back to Ohio, not all of them came back to Lima. Mercedes is in Dayton working with underprivileged kids in some sort of musical youth outreach program (it just screams Lifetime Original Movie). Artie's in Cincinnati, working as a graphic designer and jamming out with his garage band on the weekends. Tina and Mike are in Columbus, surprisingly still together after all these years. Tina's getting her doctorate at OSU (in what Rachel couldn't say) and Mike teaches dance at an honest-to-God dance academy. The people who are left (with the exception of Finn) were never really her friends to begin with.

Quinn's a first grade teacher at Heritage Elementary. It makes sense, kind of, because Quinn's ethereally pretty and has a darling voice and when she's not actively trying to crush your hopes and dreams is really a sweetheart. Finn's (apparently) a (her) physical therapist and, last time she checked Facebook, Sam was the offensive coach at McKinley (which probably has less to do with any actual qualifications and more to do with being starting quarterback his junior and senior years). Then there's Noah and Santana. Rachel's pretty sure they're both still in Lima but that's about the extent of her knowledge. After high school, Santana followed after Brittany like a lost puppy dog and Noah just up and disappeared. They're (probably) not dead but that doesn't rule out jail time for solicitation.

It's strange, but, out of _everyone, _she's the most disappointed that they don't come pounding on her door. They don't and she doesn't ask about them (because they were never friends and barely teammates at times) and she passes her time in the cast without a single visitor. Rachel's relieved because it means she doesn't have to ignore pity filled glances and barely hidden smirks and paste a too big smile on her face while they all talk about their _glory days _in glee when they wanted to set her on fire.

* * *

><p>It takes a while before Dr. Michaels (who flies out to perform her surgery) and Dr. Reed (who's a little miffed about being pushed out in favor of an L.A. hotshot) clear her to start physical therapy. The cast comes off and the metal in her leg comes out and it's shocking just how <em>bad <em>her leg still looks. It's not just the pale, pale skin or the overgrowth of hair or the two shiny pink scars that run the length of her tibia. Really, what _finally _manages to break that last piece of Rachel's heart is how weak and wasted her right leg looks. It looks twig-like and brittle, like one good snap and they might as well scrap it and fit her with a prosthetic.

She sends a picture to Jesse and, for the first time, it takes _him _days to reply.

Physical therapy with Finn is unlike anything else Rachel's ever done with him. He's _not clumsy_ and knows exactly what he's doing. He makes her charts (which she redoes at home) and talks about the importance of keeping up with her exercises and warns her about overdoing it. Finn's enthusiastic about the whole process (much more than she is) and suddenly it's L.A. over again. Instead of her dad passing information from her doctor to her, it's Finn acting as liaison. Like in L.A., Rachel really doesn't care. It just means she gets to spend less time with Dr. Reed and can deflect most of her dads' questions to Finn when they start getting too overbearing.

That doesn't mean that things go smoothly.

Rachel has always been a perfectionist and she gets easily frustrated with her lack of progress. Finn makes her takes things _so freaking slow_; he makes her do cardio and work out her upper body with light weights when all she wants to do is work her right leg until it plumps up and looks normal again. Even though she knows she never going to dance (she's heard the lectures from Dr. Michaels and Dr. Reed too many times to count) doesn't mean she doesn't want her leg strong again. One day Rachel slips up while they're (finally) working on her legs and tells Finn that one of the (non-Broadway) reasons she always danced was because it was so much more fun than going to the gym.

She knows she's fucked up before he does, but, he quickly catches on when she starts crying in the middle of the main rehab room. Rachel's always been an ugly crier, even on stage, and Finn's always been pretty helpless when it comes to her tears. Making things even worse is that it's the first time she's cried since she stashed her anti-depressant prescription and she feels like a failure. Rachel tries to ignore the tears tracking down her cheeks in favor of strength training but it isn't long before she's doubled over, the normally loud room quiet except for the sound of her sobbing.

Once she's calmed down, Finn suggests she see a _real _therapist and Rachel tells him to go to hell.

After her breakdown in at the rehab center, it takes a while before they regain some semblance of normal. Rachel stops talking almost entirely, except to answer questions about her leg and how she's _physically _feeling. Finn starts filling in the silence, mostly by talking about his girlfriend and her son. Melody is pretty much Quinn 2.0 only she's not quite as pretty and she didn't get knocked up until _after _high school. She's a nurse at Lima Memorial, trying to work her way into the nursery because she loves babies, and her son is adorable when he's not demonstrating just why they call it the 'Terrible Twos.' They met during OSHA training at the hospital and Finn's saving up to buy her a ring from a family owned jewelry store in Columbus.

When he runs out of Melody stories (it takes a long, long time) Finn starts talking about their former teammates. She finds out that Santana is working as an assistant at the optometrist's office and that Noah (ironically) is a member of the Lima Police Department. Apparently all of them, except for Quinn and Mercedes, get together every now and then to get drunk and reminisce. Even Artie and the Changs make time to visit every once in a while. Finn tries a million different ways to invite her, without actually inviting her, and Rachel always has a good excuse to feed to him.

It's classic _FinnandRachel_, dogged determination and fanatical avoidance, and should be funny but it's not. If she wasn't still in the damn wheelchair, it would probably be enough to make Rachel skip every other appointment.

As much as he pisses her off sometimes, she's not so_ stupid _that she'd jeopardize her health.

* * *

><p>Her dads get fed up with her self-imposed exile right as fall is starting to turn into winter. Rachel's finally able to ditch her wheelchair for a walker and even though it makes her feel like an old lady, she relishes in the little bit of freedom it brings. She starts going for walks around the neighborhood but it's apparently not enough to appease her dads.<p>

They start taking her e_verywhere_ with them. Whether it's the grocery store, bank, post office, dry cleaners, or Lima's only Chinese restaurant, they're not happy unless they're dragging her along behind them. Mostly she just keeps her head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, and shuffles along while they have conversations over the top of her head. It's when that stops making them happy that they start dropping her off and forcing her to run the errands by herself.

That's how she ends up in line at the Chinese takeout place, waiting for the order that was supposed to be ready twenty minutes ago.

"Berry."

There's a split second where Rachel has to decide whether to be polite or to pretend she's temporarily gone deaf, blind, and mute. She _knows_ that voice and she's convinced that nothing good can come out of acknowledging that voice. Then she hears her daddy in her head and the Jewish guilt starts weighing down before she can even start to pull off a Tony worthy performance.

"Look, bitch, I know it's you. Even when you ditch the schoolgirl granny clothes, you're still _Rachel fucking Berry_."

She looks up to see Santana Lopez with her hands on her hips, shooting a poisonous glare in her direction.

"Santana, it's very nice to see you again." The fake smile is back before she can help herself. Rachel feels like she's back in the choir room, defending her musical selections to the growing objections of the critical Latina. "You're looking well."

"Can the crap, Berry, I can always tell when you're pulling the fake shit." It's true and incredibly unfair. _Friends_ are supposed to be the people who can look through your walls, not the people who spent a whole lot of time and energy making it necessary for those walls to be put up in the first place. "_You_ look _awful_. You should, I dunno, stop walking around like you have a stick up your ass."

The lady at the counter calls Santana's order but she makes no move forward. She's as beautiful as always, the only real change that Rachel can see is that her once shoulder length hair has been chopped off into a sleek bob. She doubts that's there's enough hair to pull back into a ponytail and wonders if that's the point. After a minute, the lady gives up and calls Rachel up to the counter. She takes a tentative step forward, only to find her arm in Santana's vice grip.

"Wheels and the Other Asian are in town and Finn's having everyone over at his apartment. You're coming."

"My dads…"

"Just drop off the fucking food and then get in my car. I know you don't have a _real_ degree, but, this isn't quantum physics."

It takes some time to make it over to her dads but she manages to handle the walker and the bag of food just fine. They look a little bewildered when she tells them she's going to get a ride with Santana to Finn's but that's about it. All they know about Santana is that she was a Cheerio and in glee club, so, they don't think anything odd about her _kidnapping _Rachel for the evening. They just tell her to have a good time and promise to save some of the tofu soup for her.

Santana doesn't say anything about Rachel's gait or the walker or how slow it takes her to get to the car. The passenger seat is already pushed back as far as it can go (giving Rachel ample leg room) and if Finn were just a little smarter, Rachel would suspect it's all a big setup. He's not, so, she doesn't have to contemplate dropping a light weight on his foot the next time she sees him. The drive to the apartment complex isn't very long (you can get to just about anywhere in Lima in fifteen minutes or less) but it seems like it drags on for an eternity. They don't talk and Rachel just stares straight ahead, flinching every time there's even slightly suspicious traffic movement.

To her credit, Santana doesn't say anything about that either.

Finn's apartment is on the bottom floor and Rachel breathes a small sigh of relief. Even carrying two huge bags of takeout, Santana still makes it over to his door before she does. Finn opens the door, looking a little like an excited puppy when he spots Santana, and breaks out into a huge, face splitting grin when he catches sight of Rachel.

"Guys, guess what, we're entertaining a Tony award winning actress tonight."

While Rachel cringes (and pretends like it doesn't really bother her), Santana barks orders at Finn to grab the twenty four pack that's in the trunk. Artie and Mike look genuinely happy to see her, Mike going as far as to scoop her up into a bear hug. Sam waves from his spot in the corner, nursing what looks like his third beer, and Mike softly explains that he's Quinn's bitch of the month. In a little louder voice, he announces that Tina wanted to come but she has to teach an undergrad lab three days a week. While they're headed to the kitchen to load up on takeout and beer, Artie fist bumps her in passing and says it's good to see her.

They don't do much, just sit around the apartment, watch mindless TV, and drink beer. There are a couple of conversations going on around her but Rachel's too busy looking around at Finn's apartment. It's bigger than anything she's ever had in New York (she always lived well below her means) and she knows that if it were plopped down in NYC that it would probably be worth someone's soul (or a virgin sacrifice at least).

Everyone catches her staring at the same time, plate of Chinese going cold in her lap, and it's Santana that shoves a piece of glazed carrot in her face. "You should fucking eat, Berry. I bet you went down a fucking cup size while you were in Hollywood. You lose anymore tit and you're going to look like a twelve year old boy."

"I'll have you know, _Santana_, that I'm _ten pounds_ over my target weight. Bradley would throw a fit if he saw me like this."

"I've got a DVR and I watched St. Doucher's show; you looked _skeletal_ and the camera's supposed to _add_ ten pounds. I'm surprised you have any muscle left for dumbass to build up. I don't give a fuck about this Bradley jerk, eat."

Rachel takes the carrot, wanting to diffuse the tension, and forces herself to eat the cooling food on her plate. Santana keeps occasionally shoving food in her face until her plate is empty and doesn't stop glaring at Rachel until nothing is left on her plate except for a stray piece of orange chicken. After Santana's initial outburst, everyone pretty much leaves them alone. Mike, Artie, and Finn pass around two Wii controllers between the three of them and occasionally remember their manners and ask the two girls if they want to play Mario Kart. Sam just sits in the corner, alternating between drinking his beer and texting furiously, and Rachel wonders what it is about Quinn that she can pretty much treat people however she wants and get a free pass.

She's on her third beer, and feeling pretty good about life, when Noah comes barging through the door with a skinny redhead (with gigantic boobs) attached to his face. At first it's all fist bumps and ragging on Sam for being such a pussy whipped bitch (who's not getting any pussy). Then Noah almost trips over her folded up walker and opens his mouth, most likely to spew more filth, before doing a double take.

"Berry? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Well, apparently, I'm being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition." She leans over and asks Finn to get her another beer, as proud as she is, she doesn't want to get hurt doing it herself and catches the way Noah's nose flares when Finn tosses his controller to Mike and stands up.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I'm not a doctor," someone, maybe the redhead, mutters 'No Shit,' "but I didn't think you were supposed to mix pain killers with alcohol."

"Well, it's a good thing I flushed mine down the toilet _months ago_, isn't it?" Rachel doesn't mean to get angry, being confrontational is the worst way to handle Noah when he's being a dick, but she can't help it. The bimbo (or bimbo-like growth) attached to his body looks barely old enough to drink and keeps staring at Rachel like she's vaguely familiar (and it's not a particularly pleasant familiarity). Finn _finally _returns with her beer and she takes a swig when the redhead decides to open her mouth.

"I know you! You used to go to McKinley! Did you really get hit by a car or was that really all PR? I won't tell anyone, I promise." She leans forward, her nose almost touching Rachel's, and Rachel nearly topples back trying to reclaim some of her personal space. It's Santana's hand on her upper back that keeps her from losing her balance completely.

"Seriously, Puck? This is why we don't let non-gleeks come hang out. They're _all_ really _fucking stupid_. Just go home, Andie, you're not welcome."

"We're not Cheerios anymore, _Santana_, you can't tell me what to do." The look that Santana flashes the younger girl is probably enough to kill a small mammal (like cat size) and the girl looks up at Noah and pouts. "Besides, I _am_ a gleek. I joined senior year, when Sam was captain."

Rachel chokes on her beer because a former Cheerio just _willing _aligned herself with the glee club. Sam looks up from his phone, ignoring the chime of an incoming text, long enough to give the girl a once over and roll his eyes.

"You were on the team long enough for Shue to look past your boobs and realize you couldn't sing for shit. You didn't even make it to Sectionals; you were just trying to get with me, the starting quarterback."

_Andie _doesn't even look phased. She just flips her hair over her shoulder (Rachel's pretty sure it's a dye job) and looks directly at Rachel. "Well, _everyone _knows that's the way to do things. How else did _RuPaul_ get Hudson?" She waits a beat and then blatantly runs her hand over the front of Noah's jeans. He's just standing there, talking about Indianapolis Colts' last game with Mike, and the only indication he gives that he even _noticed _anything is that he grabs her wrist and shoves her back. Apparently, this is not a deterrent to bitchy behavior.

"So, how many people did you have to sleep with to get on Broadway?"

Rachel's not sure if it's the ugly nickname or the beer or Noah's blatant nonchalance about the whole situation, but she finds herself scrambling to get up off the couch. Her butt isn't so much lifted a couple of inches up when Santana pushes her down and back into the couch with a surprising amount of force.

"Puckerman, get your bitch under control before I pull an Old Yeller and shoot her ass."

He has the decency to look embarrassed for a second before pulling his attention away from Mike and raising an eyebrow in Santana's direction. "You still carrying concealed, Lopez? Last time I checked, you didn't have a permit for that shit."

It's like she's stepped into the twilight zone. Mike and Artie are completely zoning them out, putting all their focus into the video game. Finn, having relinquished his controller in order to play moderator, is just sitting and staring and looking confused (typical Finn). Rachel figures this has less to do with _her _(and the bitch) and more to do with whatever baggage Noah and Santana have managed to pile on since high school graduation. Still, she kind of misses the days when, even though they weren't friends, Noah defended her honor.

"I don't _need a permit_, fucker, I'm from _Lima Heights_." Noah rolls his eyes and Santana flips him off in response. "You need to get reacquainted with your right hand, Puck, so tell the bitch she isn't welcome and send her on her way."

"Just go home, Andie." Noah looks tired and the redhead looks shocked and Rachel just wants another beer. "I don't know when you were last tested and I really don't want to share Azimio's syphilis."

Sam laughs out loud when Andie bursts into tears and runs out the door. Rachel, being a decent human being, asks how she's going to get home and Finn tells her she lives on the other side of the complex. Being Lima, Rachel really isn't surprised. It would be only slightly more surprising if Noah had picked her up on his way to Finn's apartment. And only just slightly.

It takes a while for everyone to get settled after all the excitement. Noah ends up on the couch beside Rachel, not really touching her but close enough in her personal space so that she feels uncomfortable. Santana ends up in his lap, confirming Rachel's earlier suspicions, but spends most of her time absorbed with her iPhone. Sam finally turns his phone off, apparently drunk enough to ignore Quinn, and starts playing Mario Kart with the other guys. Rachel just pretends to be invisible, drinking the water Santana passes her occasionally, and it works pretty well. No one tries to talk to her about Broadway, Hollywood, her accident, or the Tonys. Or about the stupid bitch who apparently went to high school with them.

In fact, she's feeling pretty good until Noah (legitimately sneaks up on her) stops her from getting into Santana's car.

"You need to start coming to temple before _I_ start looking like a _good Jew_."

She manages to pull together her most placating smile, when she really just wants to kick him in the shin, and nod sweetly. "Of course, Noah. After all, I have _so much _to be _thankful for_. I would _hate _to seem _ungrateful_."

"I don't have time for this shit, Berry, just get your ass to temple, okay? Ma would like to see you."

He shoves off then, stopping to plant a big smacking kiss on Santana's lips before walking back to Finn's apartment. Rachel doesn't say anything the whole drive back to her dads' house and whenever Santana opens her mouth, she just turns the radio up louder and pretends to hum along. Whatever sick and twisted game they happen to be playing, she wants absolutely no part of it.

Even so, she still shows up to temple Friday night. The guilt of a Jewish mother is a magical thing.

Or, at least, that's what she tells herself.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Once again, Santana hijacks my brain. The bit in Finn's apartment wasn't supposed to happen for a couple more chapters but then Santana showed up and any plans I had went to hell. Honestly, it's nice to have everyone (especially Noah and Santana) back on screen. Hopefully you enjoyed that little interlude – here's to moving forward.


	4. Too Late to Turn Back Now

**Author's Note: **I know that it's been way too damn long since I updated. For those of you who don't follow along with _In Treatment_, I'll just say that my life's been just a little crazy since the last update. I've also been stuck with this story because, while I know where I want to be, I'm not quite sure how to get there. I'm struggling with the fact that the raging fangirl inside of me wants it to be Puckleberry Pez time _right now_. Fortunately, the author inside of me has grabbed the reigns and said 'Slow the fuck down.' That said, I'm a little nervous with some parts of this chapter and I sincerely hope that you enjoy.

Just between us, parts of this chapter have made me want to bash my head into the wall and then go cry in a corner.

**Sing Me Home**

_**Chapter 4: Too Late to Turn Back Now**_

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><p><em>If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there.<em>

_**Lewis Carroll**_

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long before Santana becomes a permanent fixture in Rachel's life.<p>

Rachel expects take out and beer at Finn's to be a one off. She might be twenty five and a (former) Broadway sensation, but, being back in Lima can sometimes be like living through one continuous PTSD episode where she's fifteen and a loser who spends her Friday nights scrubbing pee off the front door so her dads won't notice when they get back from _their date_. So, she tacks up the whole thing to Santana Lopez having no concept of personal boundaries _and_ getting personal enjoyment out of making her feel uncomfortable.

Only, Santana doesn't stop coming around after dropping Rachel off at her dads'. She starts coming around in the middle of the day, weighed down by bags full of take out, complaining that the bitches at work are too much to handle. That develops into Thursday nights at the Berry house, curled up on the couch in the den, watching Jesse St. James save lives in between fucking half of the hospital staff and lamenting over his lost love. It isn't until Rachel gets stranded at physical therapy, her daddy in court and her dad catching a baby, and Santana picks her up without any mention of payback that she realizes the Latina isn't going anywhere.

Friends aren't exactly Rachel Berry's forte. She spent the majority of high school alternating between pushing people away and trying _too hard_ to be the _best friend ever_. In New York she had Kurt, then Kurt and Blaine, then Kurt again, and then finally a few people from Tisch who were into the Arts but had no interest in Broadway. After that, she had Bradley and Jesse and one was her agent and the other was in California. Despite everything her dads ever told her, leaving Lima wasn't exactly the solution to a new and improved social life. Julliard, filled with people just as competitive and cutthroat, wasn't exactly the place to forge livelong connections. So, it's almost Thanksgiving before she realizes that she's more or less stuck with Santana.

The idea doesn't scare her as much as it probably should.

Finn's finally given her the all clear to walk up and down stairs, so long as she's got a spotter, so, they're in Rachel's old room passing the time until Rachel has to get ready for temple. Santana's sprawled out on the bed, digging through a box labeled _New York – Guestroom Closet_, and Rachel's lying on the floor working her good leg with her resistance band. Every once in a while the woman on the bed will make a derisive comment, looking over her shoulder to make sure Rachel's paying attention, but, for the most part, they pass their time in silence. Then Santana pulls out a thin, black binder and, just like that, quiet time is over.

"What the fuck is this?"

"A binder?" Santana raises an eyebrow as if to say, _I will go Lima Heights on your ass_, so Rachel props herself up and makes a gimme motion with both her hands. "Bradley had his minions pack the house, San, I honestly couldn't tell you what's in half the boxes." She isn't sure how to feel when she starts flipping through the pages but, if pride and angst had a baby, she'd probably be pretty close to identifying the emotion. The binder is full of Polaroids carefully labeled, tucked in plastic pockets, and put together in pages of 3x3. There's _Alexander McQueen – Peep Toe Filigree Skull Pump – AMAs 2017_ and _Michael Kors – Elena Sandal – Interview, Entertainment Weekly 2018_. Rachel tosses the binder back up on the bed and Santana snatches it quickly, her eyes darting between Rachel and the plastic protected pictures.

"I brought my whole life back with me, not all of it fit in my dads' house. We had to put most of it in storage."

Santana starts coughing violently and before Rachel can get up off the floor she's gotten herself together, her face red and her eyes slightly crazy. "What the fuck? You've got _Alexander fucking McQueen _locked up in Lima Self Storage? I thought we were friends, why the hell aren't they on _my feet_?"

"Because, unlike my hobbit ancestors, I have small feet?"

_That's_ apparently the wrong answer because Santana starts spluttering again. It's amazing, and slightly disturbing, just _how good_ it makes Rachel feel to elicit that kind of reaction from Santana _Lima Heights Adjacent _Lopez. Just because they're friends and, apparently, on a level playing field, doesn't mean she can't enjoy getting one over on the other woman.

"_Rachel_, I would cut off parts of my feet to fit into these shoes. Size has _nothing_ to do with it."

"Fine, but, you'll have to wait until your next day off. Everything's locked up in some sort of maximum security storage facility in Columbus under an assumed name." Santana gives her _that look_ again, waiting to see if she's getting bullshitted, and then just nods and goes back to the binder. And, _seriously_, there's _no way in hell_ she'd trust Lima Self Storage with _any_ of her things.

* * *

><p>Temple isn't as nearly as painful as she thought it was going to be. She expects at lot of talking about Job, Daniel, and Jonah but, with few exceptions, service carries on as if Rachel Berry was never forced back to Lima as a result of a tragic car accident. She sits in the back, follows through with the motions, and keeps her phone turned off and in her purse. Even so, it's a near constant struggle (now that she's angry with God) to not nod off, dish on all the <em>horrible outfits<em> via text with Santana, or storm off in flurry of self indignation.

Tonight, though, she's too busy ignoring Noah Puckerman to pay attention to much else.

Unlike Santana, he's kept his distance. Rachel doesn't know much about their relationship other than the fact that they, quote, _fuck a lot_ and that Santana is, again quote, _Pucksexual_ and otherwise basically a lesbian. The only difference between _PuckandSantana _in 2009 and _PuckandSantana _in 2019 is that they're completely honest and don't even pretend to go through the motions of monogamy. All that she knows about the new Noah, she's pieced together from information from Santana, Finn, and Noah's mother. It's just a little heartbreaking.

She was stupid enough to sit at the end of the aisle and he's taken advantage of the situation by pressing his right thigh firmly against her left one. It's not enough to hurt and certainly not enough to squish her against the side of the pew; it's just enough to keep her hyper-aware of his body against her own. Not that she needs to be reminded. So long as Rachel's in the same room, same state, same world, _same freaking galaxy_ she's hyper-aware of Noah Puckerman's body. The LPD has been _very good_ to Noah; he radiates pure sex and raw masculinity out of every pore (even without his trademark Mohawk and wearing a yarmulke).

Noah picks up on her reaction, the fluttery breaths and clenched fists, and drapes his arm over her shoulders for the remainder of service. He doesn't do anything else, just keeps looking forward and nodding along with Rabbi Greenburg, and if they weren't in last row of seating Rachel would accuse him of trying to pull on over on his mother. Only, they are, so all of the attention is apparently for her benefit. It's the closest she's been to Noah since their senior year of high school.

It triggers the memory of her dream, Noah half naked and dripping purple ice, and she's forced to sit through the last fifteen minutes of service with wet panties. To her credit, Rachel keeps from squirming in her seat.

"What's the matter, _babe_?"

Rachel's out of her seat and clutching a cup of burnt coffee as quickly as her legs will carry her. The only person who notices is Noah, who saunters over with his own equally horrible cup of coffee and blocks her off from her dads (and any other reasonable human being). Along with Santana, he's the only other person who is able to consistently call her on her bullshit. He's been using this secret ability, with varying success, to vacillate between seducing her and talking her down from ridiculous situations. _Like a nose job at sixteen._

"You're being unusually obnoxious today. Did the hypocrisy of speaking at McKinley's drug prevention seminar overload your brain and send you spiraling back to your own sixteen year old self who enjoyed tormenting the people around him?"

She's found that the best defense against Noah Puckerman is a wordy, slightly hurtful, offense. An offense that's supposed to make his eyes widen, his jaw twitch, and get his feet to lead him in the opposite direction in the name of righteous indignation. Obviously, Rachel's a little rusty, because he just leans forward and laughs softly in her face. To add insult to injury, his slightly callous fingers brush the escaped pieces of her side swept bangs out of her right eye and back behind her ear. She's told herself a million (a million and one) times since dinner at Finn's that she wasn't getting mixed up in _NoahandSantana_ and realizes she's failing miserably.

Success was never (realistically) an option.

"You know," he leans back just enough so he's not breathing in her face, "I think I figured out why San's been so _nice_ lately. You've apparently been siphoning off her bitchiness. Wanna demonstrate sometime? Just for me?"

It takes _all_ of her training in the dramatic arts to keep from spewing coffee all over his face.

"I don't know what tabloids you've been _pretending to read_ but _I_ don't _play like that_."

Rachel slips around him, passing off her coffee like it's been carefully rehearsed, and follows after her dads who seem to be headed to the parking lot. Even with all her training, Noah still manages to stop her dead in her tracks for three (very telling) seconds.

"Oh, _Rach_, I know _all about _how you like to _play_."

* * *

><p>"Your <em>boyfriend<em> is a complete and utter asshole."

Rachel's been in a shitty mood for days and it's not even all Noah's fault. Finn's bitching (again) that she's doing too much and not resting enough, even though she's (reluctantly) following his instructions to a tee. Her daddy wants her to either start looking for a job or start researching majors and her dad keeps bringing up Will Shuester in every second sentence. The cherry on top is that she's sweating her ass off inside of her storage unit, watching Santana try on shoes that she isn't able to wear.

"_Bitch, please,_" San struts a couple of feet in a pair of winter white Manolo Blahniks and rolls her eyes, "I don't have a _boyfriend_. I've got Puck and some ladies that I finger bang on the side. Santana Lopez doesn't do boyfriends."

She bites back the '_Whatever_' that's dangling on the tip of her tongue and focuses all of her attention on Santana carefully wrapping the heels in tissue paper and placing them reverently back in their box.

"Fine, _your Noah_ is being a complete and utter asshole."

"I thought he was supposed to be ignoring you." The words come out in a tangled mumble as Santana leans over to switch out the box in her hand with one that contains a pair of Stella McCartney wedges. It's Rachel's turn to roll her eyes as she switches out that box with a pair of Alexander McQueen booties. The Latina's smirk morphs into a genuine smile once she's gotten through the tissue paper. "Seriously," she says a little louder, "he promised he'd be on his best behavior. _Jew's honor_."

Suddenly, Rachel has a headache coming on that has nothing to do with Noah's behavior and everything to do with the fact that Noah and Santana are apparently _discussing her in private_.

"Besides, it doesn't matter, you're a _total lesbian_ now, anyway."

Now, it's Rachel's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm not a _total lesbian_, San."

"_Right_ and that hot red head you drug around NYC for _two years_ was just your attempt to be a part of _every single minority?_ Denial isn't really a good look for someone with two gay dads."

This, _right here_, is why Rachel's avoided any mention of sex and sexuality since she stepped into the limelight. It is one thing to say, '_This is my partner, Catherine_,' and a whole other thing to go into a rant about labels and sexuality and what, just exactly, pushes her buttons. She feels like that, for the most part, it's perfectly acceptable to be gay or straight. It's when you get caught somewhere in the middle that things start to unravel (regardless of which community you're addressing).

"Honestly, _Santana_, if we're going to toss around labels like party favors, I prefer the term _queer_."

"Oh _God_, Rachel, I know I'm all preaching sexual fluidity and _Pucksexuality_ and shit but, _seriously_, when push comes to shove, I'm at peace with the L-word." As far as reactions go, it's pure Santana and about ten times better than Catherine screaming at her for coping out and straddling some invisible fence. Or maybe it was line in the sand. Either way, it ended in a couple of broken plates and a lot of tears.

"_They're just words_," it is freshmen year and that first eventful GSA meeting all over again. "Look, call me old fashioned, but I fall in love with _people_, not sex organs. I'm not exclusively attracted to women, so, I'm not a lesbian and I don't particularly care to use bisexual _or _pansexual or _any term_ for that matter that seems to push the focus on sex. It isn't just about sex, _okay_?"

For a moment, Rachel's afraid that Santana's going to leave her stranded in Columbus and minus on pair of very expensive high heeled shoes. Her chest is tight and it feels like all the air's been sucked out of the room and she _hate, hate, hates herself_ for her inability to keep her mouth shut or, even better, deflect like a normal person.

"_Fine_, you're _queer_ and these booties look fantastic on me. _Anyway_, you should give Puckerman a break. He's always acts a little weird whenever he has to go to McKinley."

And, just like that, Rachel can breathe again.

* * *

><p>Everything goes back to normal after the episode in Columbus. Santana keeps hanging around and Noah keeps keeping his distance. Temple continues to grate on Rachel's nerves and she keeps on going. Her dads keep bitching and Finn keeps bitching and, for the most part, she ignores them with varying degrees of success. Then, a week and a half before Thanksgiving, her dads decide to go see her dad's sister, Rhoda, and Rachel decides she'd rather throw herself down a flight of stairs then sit in the car for the ten plus hours it would take to get to Dallas.<p>

Bradley calls while she's sprawled out on the couch, half watching _Cheaters _and half listening to Santana interject witty commentary during the episode. She hasn't heard from Bradley for months and it surprises her just how much it hurts her heart to listen to his voice.

"Rachel, sweetness, I have _ah-mazing _news!"

She doesn't even have to fake the smile that breaks across her face or the excitement in her voice. It might hurt to _listen to his voice_ but the joy of talking to him, after all this time (when they rarely went a day without speaking), more than makes up for it.

"What? Did you kill Regina and need help hiding her body?"

"_Puh-lease_, like I would tell you _that_. I've told you time and time again, we sophisticated types don't dirty our hands with something as menial as labor. That's what New Jersey is for. So, guess again!"

She tries to flash through all the realistic possibilities while she moves to the kitchen, aware that Santana is trying to discreetly ease drop. Apparently, she takes too long because in the time it takes her to sit down at the kitchen table, Evan is on the other line, screaming in her ear. Rachel loves Bradley's husband, but, he's more flamboyant than _three Kurt Hummels_ and it takes a little to get used to when you don't have the benefit of near daily interaction.

"We're bringing Thanksgiving to Lima, darlin'! Isn't that exciting?"

For the last couple of years, Thanksgiving with Bradley and Evan has meant a catered dinner at their Manhattan townhouse. It's one of the (many) traditions that blurred the lines between their agent/client relationship and real friendship. It started because Thanksgiving, for her dads, meant seeing Aunt Rhoda in Texas and, for Catherine, meant visiting cousins in Boston. So, instead of leaving her to her own devices, Bradley and Evan plied her with fake turkey, too much wine, and lots of Christmas carols. The fact that they still want to continue the tradition, even when she's no longer bankrolling their European vacations, brings tears to her eyes.

"Not that I'm not grateful," she manages to stutter it out between sucking back the lump in her throat, "but why in God's name would you want to come _here_?"

"Oh _honey_."

Then its Evan that's crying, loud hysterical sobs that remind Rachel of breaking down the first time, and Bradley's repeating over and over, '_Evan, baby, just hold it together for ten more minutes,'_ and she knows that, no matter what, she's stuck with these two for life. Just the knowing leaves her with an extremely warm feeling somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach.

"Hey, _hey_, so long as it's a professional in the kitchen and not _you two_ I'm perfectly okay with you making a trip to see me. If you're lucky, I might ditch the sweatpants and stolen NYU t-shirts and actually wear something age appropriate."

Evan sucks back a shocked, ragged breath and she can't help grinning. "_Oh _honey, if you're not wearing grown up clothes, I'll force you to sit at the children's table and make you retell the story of the first Thanksgiving."

"Complete with construction paper turkeys?"

"You better not sass him, sweetness, his biological clock is ticking again and he'd _love_ to put all his theory into practice."

By the time they've worked out all the details and said their (multiples goodbyes), Santana's patience has run out and she perched up on the kitchen counter, munching on an apple.

"Who was that, Hummel and his latest boy toy?"

Honestly, she's surprised it took Santana so long to tear herself away from _Cheaters_ and comment on her phone call. "No, it was Bradley and his husband, Evan. They found a caterer in Fort Wayne who doesn't mind coming out here and doing Thanksgiving dinner, so, they've decided to keep me company while my dads are out." It's the first time they've really discussed holiday plans. Santana's off handedly mentioned a four day weekend from her job and Noah getting stuck with the bitch shift, but, beyond that they've both been rather cagey.

They're friends but, so far, any real serious conversations have been limited. Rachel knows Santana's parents are still together and still in Lima but that's because their dads work together at the hospital. She knows where Santana lives but only because the Latina had to make a quick stop by her apartment complex when she forgot some dresses she needed to take to the cleaners. And, she knows where Santana works because there's only one optometrist's office in Lima. All in all, excepting the tiny blow up at the storage unit, there aren't a whole lot of details to go on.

"Your _former_ _agent_ and _his husband_ want to travel to BFE and cater Thanksgiving dinner in your dads' house?"

"Yes. Really, San, it's not as weird as you're making it sound. You're more than welcome, if you want to come," her brain begs her to bite her tongue but she barrels forward anyway, "and you can bring whoever you want."

The look of pure '_WTF? Rachel_' is briefly replaced with a look of '_I want to drown you_' before Santana gracefully hops off the counter, tosses her apple core away, and heads back into the living room. That's the last time they talk about Thanksgiving.

* * *

><p>Bradley and Evan arrive on her (dads') door step the day before Thanksgiving. By the time they show up, pink cheeks and bright eyes and arguing over who gets to drive their BMW rental back to the airport, Rachel's bit her thumbnails to the quick worrying about Santana. They haven't seen <em>or <em>spoken to each other in _three days _and were it not for the appearance of New York the door, Rachel would have been tempted to head down to the police station and interrogate Noah over the whereabouts of his _not girlfriend_.

She thinks it's slightly ridiculous that, out of all the things they've talked about since San confronted her at the Chinese restaurant, it's _a Thanksgiving invite_ that sends her _so-called friend_ running for the hills. In her frustration, she's spent every waking moment cleaning the house until it sparkles. Her thumbs hurts, her head hurts, and her leg hurts. Not to mention there's a sick, pulsing wad of hurt emanating from the region somewhere near her heart.

Rachel has absolutely no desire to touch on _that_. So, she tosses back a couple of Advil with a glass of her favorite Pinot Grigio, and sinks into the recliner while Evan regales her with the tale of their epic journey from the _heart of civilization _to the _middle of absolutely fucking nowhere_.

By noon, Thanksgiving Day, she's on her third glass of wine and ignoring the mess in her (dads') kitchen by replaying the Tivo'ed Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Bradley's been on the phone since five o'clock in the morning (she could hear him from her bedroom) and Evan's been a mass of nerves ever since the caterer showed up with her crew at ten o'clock. Every time she sneaks into the kitchen for a glass of wine, they (all) shoo her out as if she really is five years old and they're afraid she's going to get underfoot and cause a mess. The smell of _real turkey_ is making her mouth water even though she's _never_ had an issue with the tofu version and by one o'clock, Rachel's pretty sure that the parade floats are trying to send her subliminal messages.

And then the doorbell rings.

She's so busy praying that it's Santana that it takes a couple of minutes to realize that it's Finn (and Melody and Melody's kid, Tyler). In _her mind_, her jaw is hitting the floor and all her good intentioned words are rolling out of her gaping maw like a molasses-coated snowball. In _reality_, Rachel takes a moment to swallow (and thank God she didn't bring her wine to the door) and then invites the trio in while trying to remember when she invited them in the first place.

The answer is she didn't, Bradley did. She decides to kill him _after _the tofurkey.

So, Rachel's on her fourth glass of wine (at least now she's sharing with Melody) while Finn runs around with Tyler. The Cowboys' game is playing in the background and Bradley keeps popping out of the kitchen, promising that '_Dinner'll be ready in five more minutes_.' Because she's used to carrying on meaningless conversation with people she doesn't know, Rachel has no problem striking up a conversation with Melody. They talk about the weather (decent for November), Tyler (doing well in pre-school), Melody's job (she's pulling a couple of hours a week in the nursery), and Rachel's recovery (coming along nicely); before they can roll into the _danger zone _(ie: talking about people they both know), Evan pops out of the kitchen and announces dinner is served.

And then the doorbell rings, again.

Bradley breezes by her, whispering in her ear that she should probably '_Sit down and eat something before you break your fucking leg again_,' and answers the door before she can pull herself out of the recliner. At that moment, Rachel is so _damn thankful_ for the four glasses of wine because it steadies her enough to walk into the kitchen without crying.

It can't be a good sign that the image of Santana and Noah, standing together in her (dads') doorway, makes her want to burst into tears. Then she just wishes that Jesse hadn't chosen to go skiing in Montreal , because, if he were _here_ he'd just tell her to make it through grace without throwing up on the dining room table and then beg off with a migraine. There's no one in the damn house who is going to be that freaking sympathetic.

She doesn't know what Bradley and Evan have been planning since they started hijacking her life a week and a half before, but, she realizes (a little too damn late) that she probably should have clued in before now. She ends up sandwiched between Evan and Melody. Tyler is in a booster seat, fenced in by his mom and (his future step-dad) Finn. Noah's sitting beside Finn and Santana's sitting on the other side of Noah and Bradley's sitting beside Santana, looking proud as can be with Evan on his other side.

Then, before she can recover, Bradley starts off '_Things that we're thankful for_' and Rachel wants nothing more than to stab him with the knife that carved the (real) turkey.

He's, of course, thankful for Evan, Broadway, and caterers. Evan's thankful for Bradley, the French Riviera, and the woman who is (one day) going to carry their child. Rachel's thankful for wine. Melody, after a rather long winded speech, is thankful for Finn, Tyler, and a bunch of other things that Rachel tunes out. Tyler's thankful for his mom and…that's about the time she starts staring at her green beans and stops listening to everyone else. The fact that she held out so long is a testament to strength of character. Finn says something that has Evan cringing, Noah says something that makes everyone but Melody (and Rachel) chuckle, and Santana finishes her thanks by topping Rachel's glass of wine.

It's the first time since her accident that she's hated her life for something not accident-related. Hell is, apparently, what progress feels like.

Only by the grace of God does she make it through the meal and, even then, it's by the skin of her teeth. While the caterer's crew comes by to start clearing the table, Evan herds everyone into the living room to watch highlights on SportsCenter until it's time for the next football game to start. It isn't long before Melody's out the door with a very sleepy child, leaving Finn to talk playoff possibilities with Noah. Rachel just wants to curl up on the couch and sleep until Christmas. Except, her bladder chooses that moment to threaten to explode and it feels like a very long walk to the bathroom with (at least) two sets of eyes on her.

"Based on my memories of junior year, you used to be a hellva better hostess." Santana corners her in the hall, coming out of the bathroom, and Rachel just gives up and prays that God will take pity on her. "Hell, Puck's _worried_ that you're mixing oxy-something with your wine but I _think_ that you're just a _lush_."

"It's not _my party_; I don't have to be a good hostess." The part of her that isn't pissed off at Santana for ignoring her for the better part of four days cringes at the thought of shirking at hostess duties. "If I want to go upstairs and fall asleep until you all go home, I'm allowed."

Santana snorts, loud and unladylike, and Finn's head peaks around the corner (probably to make sure they aren't trying to kill each other). "I leave you alone for three freaking days…"

"Honestly, _Santana_, it's more like three and a half, almost four."

"…and you fall the fuck to pieces. This is kind of ridiculous, _Rachel_."

She starts to cry without meaning to (certainly without wanting to) and hears Noah's '_Fucking Santana, what did you do now?'_ and Bradley's '_Sweetness, I think we've got some Pinot left in the fridge' _and it just makes her cry that much harder. There was a time in her life, before a bad leg and a fear of cars and a resentment of New York, when she _never_ cried. She could take criticism _more graciously _than praise, could watch ASPCA commercials without her hand drifting towards the phone, and dealt with the breakdown of her relationship with Catherine by taking a joyful road trip across the country. This crying mess of a girl _is not_ someone she's familiar with.

Noah's arms wrap around her from behind, while Santana's thumbs come up to wipe away the mascara running underneath her eyes, and Rachel wonders why _nothing_ in her life is simple while these two people are around. Finn slips out while Santana apologizes for being a bitch and Noah apologizes for being an asshole and Rachel apologizes for being an emotional drunk. By the time Bradley and Evan say their goodbyes, a day later, they haven't figured out much except for the fact that Santana should use her words, Noah should stop being a stranger, and that Rachel should get her shit together.

They don't realize it yet, but, they are all completely and totally screwed. In the absolutely best way possible, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Okay, so, first things first, I'll say that I'm a little nervous with the middle bit where Rachel and Santana talk labels. It's a scene that has been stuck in my head for a long time and I hope that I carried it off realistically and respectably. Needless to say, I've got my own head cannon regarding these two (in this story) and labels; I know everyone has their own opinions and, in this case, the characters are expressing their own.

In other news, we're finally making some forward progress. As I said before, as much as I'd loved to immediately jump into a happy OT3 scenario; that just isn't going to happen. We're going to get there and there's going to be plenty of OT3 goodness, but, we're not there yet. All three of these characters have baggage to bring to the table, not just Rachel, and before they can be together, that baggage needs to be addressed. I promise I'm going to come through for my babies, even if I die trying.

Again, thank you all so, so much for sticking around. I promise not to make you wait so long for the next chapter.


	5. Find Your Grail

**Sing Me Home**

_**Chapter 5: Find Your Grail**_

* * *

><p><em>Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and discomforts.<em>

_**Arnold Bennett**_

* * *

><p>"Pardon my language, but, what you need to do is get the fuck out of that cow town."<p>

It's Saturday night and while the only physical reminder of Thanksgiving is the neat stacks of Tupperware containers in the fridge, the evening is monopolizing almost all the space in Rachel's brain. She's sprawled out on the couch in her pajamas, her laptop perched on the ottoman, and has Jesse pulled up on Skype. Despite the fact that he's scowling, it feels good to talk to him.

"Look, Lima's a shit hole and you should have never gone back. If you stay, you're just going to end up a real estate agent or, worse, _somebody's mom_. It doesn't make sense for you to stay _there_ when I just bought a house that has plenty of room."

Scratch that, it _felt_ good to talk to him.

"Jess…"

"No, you don't get to _Jess_ me when you called me yesterday, _sobbing_ _your heart out_, at three o'clock in the morning. You've been there for less than a year, Rachel. Just think what a year is going to do to you. Five years. Ten years. Before you know it, you're going to be on the cover of some _Christian Inspiration book_ talking about how Jesus, and your five kids, saved your life."

Rachel isn't sure why she keeps listening to him, really. It would be so, so easy to end the video call, turn off her phone, and forget the conversation even happened. _Except_. Except there's a part of her, a small part of her, that might just be close to buying into what he's saying. It's the same part of her that wanted him to sneak a gun into her hospital room. It's the same part of her that wanted to be Mrs. Catherine Fraser.

It's a part of herself that she hates very, very much. The cowardly part. The part that just wants to drown in pain killers and pray for an accidental overdose.

"Lima's been _good _for me," he snorts (loudly) and that one action propels her forward, "This is where I need to be right now." Because she _can't_. She can't go back to L.A. with its flashing lights, weekly trends, blog snobs, and traffic. She can't go back to L.A. because just the _thought_ of holding car keys makes her break out in a cold sweat. She can't go back to L.A. because she hates _that city_ because it's nothing like New York (the city of her heart). And because it's where her career (life) was (ended) brought to an abrupt, screeching halt.

"I just…" Rachel doesn't want to be cagey; she's just not ready to be one hundred percent truthful. The truth is: she's not ready to let Jesse know about her hallway breakdown and the conversation that really solved _nothing._ "…I had a really _bad _Thanksgiving and it'd be nice if I could talk to you without all of this being thrown in my face."

"Rachel, I love you, but you need to grow up."

And _that _is the end of _that. _So, she cries herself to sleep on the couch and, when she wakes up stiff the next morning, downs two Tylenol with some orange juice and vodka.

* * *

><p>Her dads get back from Texas in visibly bad moods.<p>

No one talks about it. Her daddy sulks around the house and storms out of the room whenever her dad enters. Her dad goes to work early and comes home late and takes up slamming any door he can get his hands on (_hard_). Rachel tries to stay out of the way and is surprisingly successful considering she's home bound (Santana's out of town and Noah's on third shift). About the time she's seriously tempted to pick up the phone and ask to crash at Finn's (or Melody's or Sue Sylvester's if it'll get her out of the house), her dads call her into the dining room.

They're both sitting at the kitchen table and she's so relieved to see them sitting in the same room that she doesn't immediately register their expressions. Her daddy looks sick, not '_a little green around the gills_' but honest-to-God sick. Her dad looks…well, mostly he just looks tired. Strangely enough, it reminds her of the spring of 2012, when they opened her rejection letter from NYADA and hid it from her for a week.

Rachel tries to swallow the lump in her throat and blink back the tears in her eyes, but, she's pretty sure, whatever is coming next, she doesn't want to have any part of.

"Rachel, bunny, what are the state of your finances?"

The question shocks her enough that she jerks back.

"_Hi'_, you _promised."_

The small Jewish man across the table from her gives the large Black man beside him a look that could freeze over hell before continuing.

"Don't _Hi'_ me, _Leroy_. You wanted to have this conversation but I'll be damned if I have it on your terms." Her dad rolls his eyes, _hard_, before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. If the tension wasn't so thick that she could cut it, Rachel would probably think it was all pretty funny. She may have inherited her _talent_ from Shelby but her _flair for the dramatic _definitely came from the men sitting in front of her.

"Bunny, can you just answer the question before your dad interrupts again?"

Money isn't really something that Rachel thinks a lot about. While she's only been in one big show, thanks to Bradley she's been working almost constantly since graduating. It wasn't just the shows, either. There were a couple of really lucrative endorsement deals, a short lived (but profitable) advertising campaign, and the money from the _Pirates of Penzance _album. And, of course, the settlement from the city and county of Los Angeles. Combined with the guest role on Jesse's show, living modestly, and a really good investment banker, she's done pretty good for herself considering she's twenty five and has been living in New York since she was eighteen. She hasn't had to have a "real job" since college (when she waited tables) and while she's not rich by _New York standards_, Lima _is not_ New York.

"Good, I guess. I mean, I don't own any property and I've got some money tied up in the bond market, but, I'm doing pretty well for myself."

Her dad makes a weird noise in the back of his throat and Rachel watches as his face develops a very deep purple color. "_Good_, Hiram_, _did you hear that? Our daughter is doing _well_ for herself."

"I don't…I'm not…is this about rent? Because I offered and…"

"Bunny," her daddy shoots her dad a mean look (something she's not used to seeing on his face) before turning back to her, "do you think you could be a little more specific?"

"Not really," now it's her daddy's turn to make a noise that makes him sound like he's being strangled, "I _know_ this sounds _really bad_ but I've had other things on my mind. Up until now, someone else took care of that for me."

Her dad makes that same _weird noise_ and her daddy cuts him with another harsh look and it doesn't take long before they're arguing in hushed tones (it's like she's five years old and they're arguing about Nana and Bubbie coming for Hanukkah). By the time their voices have started to rise, she's gotten up, dug through her stack of papers on the kitchen counter, and slid a couple of the more important ones across the dining room table.

"This is…"

"_Good_. Isn't it _good_, Lee?"

Money isn't Rachel's forte. She knows (knew) how to make it (by picking good projects and otherwise doing what Bradley told her to) and she knows how to keep it (spend less than you feel comfortable spending) but she doesn't know how to grow it (hence the investment banker). As far as she's concerned, a good investment is a safe investment (and one she can liquidate fairly easily). Still, whatever her dads are seeing is easing the tension in the room, so, that's apparently all the money sense she really needs.

"Rachel, _your dad_ and I think it would be best…"

"Don't say it like _that, _Hi'. _Your dad_, yes, because I'm the bad guy here. I thought we were going to present a united front, not…"

"…think that it would be best if you started looking for somewhere else to live."

She's not excepting _that_ to come out of her daddy's mouth. '_We're getting a divorce_,' or, '_Your Aunt Rhoda has cancer,' _or '_We've decided to adopt another baby_' were all in the running before '_You should live somewhere else.' _It's just, beyond a partial scholarship and her waitressing job and her trust fund set up by her bubbie, she hasn't been a financial burden since she went off to New York. With the exception of the emotion hardships caused by her living in New York and only seeing her parents a couple times a year, Rachel didn't think she was much of a burden at all.

"I see."

Except she doesn't. It's not like she _wants_ to be there. She _wants_ to be in New York, living in her tiny apartment, and in the final rehearsals for her next show. She doesn't want to be stuck in an endless loop of small town life. It's not like she _wants_ to be taking up space in their guest room, hobbling around the house until her next physical therapy appointment.

"_Rachel_," her dad finally decides to speak and she feels like she's eighteen and being told she can't go to NYADA all over again, "we just don't think this is good for you."

"Speak for yourself, _Leroy_."

There's a beat of silence and then her dad clears his throat and starts again.

"We _love_ you, so much, but, this _isn't_ good for you. Physically, sweetheart, you're blowing your doctors away with your recovery. But, mentally…you need some purpose in your life. You need a reason to get up in the morning beyond one of us pounding on your bedroom door. You need to get your things out of storage and you need a job and you need…"

"…I need to get out because you don't want to deal with your _broken daughter_ anymore."

It's hard to storm out with a stiff leg and blurry eyes, but, _hard_ never stopped Rachel before. She _just manages _to slam the door to her room before she bursts into tears.

* * *

><p>Rachel stops speaking to her dads.<p>

Truthfully, it's slightly less childish than her first plan, which was to ignore her dad and speak only to her daddy. And then only in (bad) Hebrew. But, she decides if it's so important that they present a _united front_ then she'll just be united in her desire to not speak with either one of them. Yeah, it's only _slightly_ less childish.

The problem is that her dads are the first people that she comes to when she needs help. They are the most important people in her life and despite the fact that they aren't always physically around, whether separated by conflicting schedules or hundreds of miles, they've always been there when she needs them. So, while it's hard to ignore them, it's even harder to wrap her mind around the fact that they made the decision to _kick her out_ without even really talking to her about it. It all boils down to the fact that she needs somewhere to live.

Like any other Rachel Berry problem (including _'How to get Finn to love me' _and '_How to convince Mr. Shue to start preparing for competition more than a week in advance'_) it means whipping out poster board and her favorite pack of colored pencils.

The easiest solution would be to rent an apartment. She already has everything she'd need to furnish it and, being Lima, she'd have considerably more space than she did in New York. On the other hand, an apartment is an apartment. She wants a garage (for when she is finally able to drive again) and a fenced in backyard. Most importantly, Rachel's tired of sharing walls with other people; she just wants her own space. With an apartment out of the equation, a rental house would be the next easiest solution to her housing woes. She wouldn't have to worry about what to do if the oven broke or a pipe burst; her landlord would take care of it. Then again, she'd be limited in what she could or couldn't do with the house or the yard, which defeats the purpose of having her own place.

So, the only real option is to buy a house. Rachel Barbra Berry, New Yorker at heart, is going to buy a house. With that decided, Rachel does a little research online. It's just enough to know that it's a buyers' market in Lima _and _that she has enough money to buy the kind of house she wants outright. What she doesn't know is where to go from there. Or, rather, she knows _where to go_; she just doesn't know how to get there.

This is the point where she'd ask her dads for help. '_Who's the best realtor in town?'_ or '_What parts of town do you think I should avoid?'_ or any number of simple, but really important questions. Even though Rachel wants to ask them for help, she _won't_. It isn't just a matter of pride (although that's part of it). It's the fact that she does have a purpose (getting better) and if they can't see that she's doing her best, then she doesn't want to talk to them at all.

It was so, so, _so hard _to get out of bed every day and just _try_; now they're telling her that it wasn't enough. That nothing she's done since May, since her life was destroyed, was enough.

So, instead of acting like their words don't hurt her, she shoots a quick text to Noah instead. '_Call me when you get a minute. No hurry.'_ Rachel has every expectation that he'll take his time (maybe even wait until Santana's back in town) but her phone lights up almost immediately.

"What's up?"

She ignores his horrible phone etiquette and gets straight to business. "Would you happen to have a recommendation for a realtor?" The line goes silent for a moment, except for the sound of static and breathing, and then it's suddenly filled up with laughter.

"Sure, yeah, I know someone."

And just like that, Rachel Berry is officially in the market for a house.

* * *

><p>Rachel clashes with her realtor immediately. Which is really ridiculous because he's basically her (if she were forty three years old and a guy). He thinks her graphs are silly and she thinks his charts are stupid; he thinks she's being too specific about what she wants and she thinks he's not taking her future purchase seriously enough. They both hate each other just a little bit (even if she does love his bullet points - smiley faces!). Fortunately, Noah tags along to make sure they don't kill each other.<p>

She doesn't ask him to and, if she's completely honest, she almost doesn't want him there. The last major housing decision she made was her apartment. She'd been nineteen and entirely too in love with Finn and the whole time she was looking at places, she kept calling him and sending him pictures and asking him over and over '_What about this one? I just want you to be comfortable when you visit.'_ Of course, he didn't really care (because he figured she'd be coming back to Lima in a couple of years) and she ended up settling on something because he liked it better than all the others. She has no intention of going down that road again.

Then again, Noah isn't Finn (not even close). For one, she's not obsessed with him. Also, while she might (occasionally) respect his opinion, she doesn't need his validation. Finally, there's the fact that they're stuck in some weird friendship limbo. So, Rachel just decides to be thankful for his company (and the cup of coffee he brings), if only because it keeps her from committing homicide. Besides, she's always liked having Noah Puckerman around.

It has nothing to do with the fact that she wants to lick his jaw.

"So…"

They're standing alone in the kitchen of the fourth house of the day. It's a nice kitchen: lots of storage, granite counter tops, chrome fixtures, and an island. Rachel can definitely see herself in this kitchen; it's the rest of the house that she's not sure about. That's been the major problem all day. Either she likes the whole house, except for one room, or she hates the whole house, except for one room.

"…what exactly brought this on?"

Noah's leaning against the island, his (beautiful) arms crossed over his chest, and he's staring at her like he's never really seen her before. It's just a little bit unsettling.

"I needed to get out of the house," the lie slips past her lips so smoothly that it scares her, "at this point in my life, renting would just be a waste of money."

"_Right_ and you decided I'd be the best person to go to for real estate advice?"

"Well…" he wasn't so much her first choice as her only choice. Santana wasn't available and she sure as hell wasn't going to her dads, but, she doesn't actually want to tell him that. Maybe, a life time ago, she knew him well enough to be that candid, but now…now it just seems unnecessarily mean. "I figured, at the very least, you could steer me out of the high crime neighborhoods."

Noah quirks his eyebrow and it still has the same effect on Rachel as it did ten years ago: the bottom falls out of her stomach and her panties get impossibly wet. It doesn't help matters that he looks really good just standing in the kitchen (that could be hers).

"Look," she walks over to him and places her hands on his biceps, "when we were in school, you always supported me; even my _really crazy_ ideas. I just figured, even if it was just the name of a realtor, I couldn't go wrong asking for your help."

His eyes get all soft and dark and, just as he starts to lean forward, Thomas chooses that moment to stroll back into the room and ask what she thinks of the crown moulding in the attached dining room. Noah mumbles some excuse that might involve work and stalks off before Rachel can register exactly what's going on.

She's not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Honestly, it's basically both feelings at the same time.

* * *

><p>A couple days later, Rachel answers the door to find Noah on the other side, still dressed in his uniform.<p>

"Are Hiram and Leroy in?" When she shakes her head no, he breaks out into a wide smile and sighs in relief. "Can I come in then?"

She just moves back, unable to do much more than smile and nod and take in just how _good _he looks in his uniform. Because he does look really, _really good_. She's never really understood the whole bit about men in uniform (maybe because she's used to men in costumes) but something about _this_ man in _this_ uniform just does something for her. Santana Lopez is very lucky woman.

It's that thought that catches her runaway brain up with reality. Reminding her that she's not getting involved in the _NoahandSantana_ situation.

"Sorry I ran off the other day. I just…"

"…had something come up at work?"

There was a point in her life when Rachel would have wanted a straight answer, no matter how much pain it might cause everyone involved. Just because Santana and Noah aren't in a particularly monogamous relationship doesn't mean Santana would appreciate Rachel stepping in and starting something with her _not boyfriend_. She's heard the way her friend talks about the other women in Noah's life; it's not flattering. And while she doesn't have anything in common with Andie or Susan or Laura, she's more than willing to give Noah a pass if it means she doesn't find out how bad this could go.

_Oh_, because she can _imagine_.

"_Rachel_." Noah Puckerman has always had a way of looking at her that makes her forget her own name. That she has a boyfriend. That there's something else in the world besides him. "_Nothing_ came up at work."

"Oh." Of course, Noah would grow up, becomes a police officer, and decides to stick to a strict policy of honesty.

"I wanted to kiss you, okay?" It's not okay. It's not okay in the slightest. It's not okay because he sleeps with her (best?) friend and fucks a lot of women and is basically the one who got away (or, at least, the one she should have tried a little harder with). "I just…Santana wants to kiss you too, so, I didn't really think it was fair. You know, to start something if she's not here to start something too."

Santana wants to kiss her too. _Santana _wants to _kiss _her too. _Santana wants to kiss her_. Rachel's not really sure why it comes as such of a surprise as it does. Yes, they've spent a lot of time together in a relatively short amount of time. Yes, they've talked about lady banging and gender preferences. Yes, she nearly fell to pieces at the thought of Santana not being around for Thanksgiving. However, none of that means that Santana wants to _kiss_ her.

Now she just feels like a whore. You know, because she's always had a soft spot for the guy sitting in front of her but, at the same time, she has this thing for loud, opinionated women who worm their way into her life before she can really notice what they're doing. The easiest thing to do would be to put the house hunting on hold and go run away to Los Angeles and stay with Jesse.

Except, ever since she flushed the pain pills down the toilet, Rachel's been promising herself that she'd stop trying to take the easy way out.

"Okay. Okay, so, _this_, right here, _this _is a little weird."

"Why do you think I've been ignoring you? I don't want to be _that guy_." He leans back in his chair and she takes a minute to study the line of his body. It's not what she _should_ be doing (it's certainly not helping her clear her head) but she can't help herself. Really. "Things were weird enough after Thanksgiving…"

The scene in the hallway will be seared into Rachel's brain forever. Noah with his arms wrapped around her from behind and Santana with her hands cupping Rachel's face. For one singular, crystal moment they all _worked_. But it was just for that one moment; then Finn called out from the living room and Bradley stomped in from the kitchen and, basically, everything went back to the way it was. Confused and disjointed.

"You can kiss me, if you want to," the words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, "but only after I walk you to the door _and_ you can't kiss me again until Santana has a chance to." She wants the living room carpet to swallow her up and send her wherever the bad Jews go. Even _worse_, where the bad _Broadway starlets _go.

Noah smiles so hard that it crinkles the corners of his eyes. Her heart leaps in her throat even while a little part of her dies. She doesn't deserve him looking at her like that. Not when she doesn't know what she wants. Not when his _not girlfriend_ wants to kiss her too.

"All right Rachel, but, I'm warning you, I've gotten a lot better since our junior year."

He stands up and takes her hand, practically dragging her to the front door.

She fumbles with the door knob, once, twice, before finally wrenching the door open. "I don't know if I can believe that, Noah." It's not _fair_ if he really has gotten better. _No one_ should be _that_ good at kissing.

Then he leans down and takes her face in his hands and…_damn_.

Noah Puckerman still sets Rachel Berry's world on fire (he doesn't even have to slip in his tongue).

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> All right, so, a bit of a cliffhanger. However, not only will Santana be back next chapter but we'll figure out why she took off (hint: it really has nothing to do with Rachel or Noah). So, anyway, these last two chapters have been difficult because, like Rachel, I've been stuck in a bit of a holding pattern. I find it really easy to write hurt/grieving Rachel because I can relate to it. The hard part has been moving the story forward; not only past surviving into real recovery but also moving her relationship with Noah and Santana forward in an honest, believable way.

At the core of all of this, I'm trying. I'm trying to be respectful not only to the characters involved but also to you guys. I figure, if you were just looking for hot, smutty threesome time, you would have gone somewhere else by now. That's not to say that there won't be some hot sex (that's going to bring a whole new set of challenges) but obviously that's not just what this story is about. So, I'm doing my best and don't be surprised if I get a little slower with the updates and let me know what you think. A little feedback keeps me convinced that I'm on the right trail...and not leading you on a wild goose chase in the wilderness.


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